


Her Eyes

by cbxs (orphan_account)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, i want to MF DIE THIS WAS SO SAD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 14:24:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20725664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/cbxs
Summary: John Marston wasn't the type to fall in love, not until she came along.





	Her Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> okay y'all you have no idea how sAD i was writing this but its basically the ORIGIN story of Abigail and John and yeah im fINE  
word count is a juicy 13k lol

John had been on guard duty all day, bored out of his mind as he leant back against a tree, gun held stiffly in his arms as he lazily peered out at the path from under the brim of his hat. It was a sunny day, light filtering through the leaves, the warmth only making it more difficult for him to stay awake as he languidly reached into his satchel in favour of sipping whiskey. The acrid drink burnt his tongue, sliding smoothly down his throat as he swallowed, wetting his lips with his tongue. The small amount of alcohol had been enough to make him more alert as he forced himself away from the tree to stand properly, gazing out into the trees.

Guard duty always was a task that John disliked doing. Standing outside for hours on end, no matter the weather, when nothing ever came by. He understood that it was something that couldn't be ignored and had to be done, but it did not mean that he found any pleasure in it.

Though, there were times that the occasional interesting thing did happen.

Like that time Arthur came back with a buckshot rabbit after his attempt at 'hunting'. Or when Uncle and Swanson returned from drinking in a nearby town, stark naked after having bet off all their clothes.

But what he saw that day was one of the most interesting things that he'd never seen before as Uncle rode into camp with a woman on the back of his horse. Cocking an eyebrow, John straightened, repositioning his gun in case he had to shoot.

"Who's that with ya, Uncle?" He asked, narrowing his eyes as he studied the woman. She seemed young, younger than him by a few years by his guess, her dark hair tumbling down her shoulders and lips plump. A flush was on her cheeks and though at first glance she seemed like the innocent type, her startlingly blue eyes told John that she wasn't just some naive girl.

"I picked her up in town after she tried robbin' me." He laughed heartily, while John wearily eyed the older man, doubting very much that he managed to catch someone robbing him when he usually spent his time at the bottom of a bottle and wasn't exactly attentive.

"I hope ya know that we aren't meant to bring nickel ladies back to camp." The young outlaw commented, tilting his head in the direction of the woman on the back of the horse, not missing the flash of annoyance that crossed her face.

Uncle rolled his eyes, spurring his horse to pass him. "It ain't nice to talk about a lady like that."

Much to John's surprise, the woman on the back of the horse spoke up, her voice tinged with a strong Southern drawl. "It ain't like he's wrong, Uncle," Her piercing eyes turned on John and he tensed, caught off by the intensity behind them, "I may be a 'nickel lady', but I ain't goin' to go spillin' your location to nobody." She hissed, words filled with resolve, leaving the outlaw to remain silent and contemplate her words as Uncle left with her in the direction of camp.

Shaking his head, he settled back against the tree as he had before, pulling free a packet of cigarettes and shaking one out. Striking a match against the sole of his boot, there was a spark as it lit, before bringing it up to his cigarette watching as it began to smoulder. Flicking the match aside, he brought the cigarette to his lips, breathing in deeply as smoke filled his lungs. He held it for longer than usual, before blowing out, watching into the distance where Uncle and the woman had gone. It wasn't like him to mull over things, but he couldn't help but think about her words and blunt tone, about her wild look and her blue eyes.

The next time that he saw her was that night when Dutch introduced her to the few members of the gang that were hanging about the camp, all the others out on small jobs like robbing homesteads and gathering information.

"Everyone, if I could have your attention please!" He called out in that booming voice of his as John sighed, tossing down his hand of cards as he folded once more during the poker game that he was playing. As usual, Hosea was winning, mainly because he was more than capable of cheating.

"As some of y'all already know, we have a new member joinin' us today," He gestured to the woman from before, his hand lightly cupping her lower back to bring her forwards, while Molly watched with eyes like a hawk, "can we please have a warm welcome for Miss. Abigail Roberts?" Dutch turned his attentions to the girls, who were already gossiping in the corner, "She'll be in your care, Ms. Grimshaw."

Grimshaw cracked her knuckles and judging by the hard expression on her face, John could already tell that the newcomer would be getting put to work at first light; Grimshaw had never been the type to let up.

"Well, with that dealt with, I s'pose it's cause for celebration that we have another member of the family," Dutch grinned, bearing his teeth and John was already starting to get a bad feeling, "how about we all break out the drinks?"

Uncle and Swanson cheered at his words, while he winced, already knowing that he'd make the mistake of drinking too much and end up passed out under a table somewhere. It had been his bane of existence since who knew how long that he had such a weak tolerance and Arthur constantly tormented him over it- that and not being able to swim, that is. Noticing John's reluctance, Hosea chuckled, patting him on the shoulder before standing up to go and approach the whiskey crate, having already made everyone go bust in poker.

At some point in the night, a bottle was found in John's hand and his head had started to do its familiar spinning routine as he got up, tripping over a rope for one of the tents while on his way over to one of the crates. He knew that it was probably a bad idea getting another drink, but once he'd had one drink, he found it hard to stop.

Crawling to his feet from his trip, he groaned before clinging onto the side of the crate to grab a drink, before sitting by it with his back resting against it. In the background, he could hear the sound of singing over by the campfire, out of tune and cacophonous, yet full of joy. Davey had made the mistake of trying to arm wrestle with Bill and had found himself collapsed on the floor, curled in on himself as he hugged his arm. Meanwhile, Mac was laughing at his brother, only to fall back to the floor as he tripped over his own feet.

The new girl- Abigail- was it? had disappeared elsewhere and John could barely register what was going on, the alcohol addling his mind as he wrapped his mouth around the cold lip of the bottle and tipped it back, revelling in the burn. Wiping his face, he tossed the bottle aside and let his chin rest on his chest contently, already feeling the lull of sleep calling to him. Vision flickering and head nodding, he eventually passed out into a dreamless and restless sleep.

In between moments of blackness, he kept waking, the world still spinning and tinged a variety of colours with the background noise echoing around him.

At one point he woke and heard the sound of arguing from Dutch's tent, but thought nothing of it, far too used to the concept.

Another time he woke to Arthur crouched down by him, a half-smile on his face as he examined John, shaking his head before leaving and muttering to himself. "Miserable bastard." A hint of humour lurking in his tone. John vaguely recalled reaching out after him, prepared to complain only to slump forwards, hugging his stomach as he was overcome by a wave of nausea. Swallowing it back, he cursed under his breath, tilting his head up to the sky and watching his breath cloud in the cool night air.

He passed out once more, but the next time he woke it wasn't because of his drinking, but more because of something he heard instead. Eyes gradually opening, he took in his surroundings, ignoring the pounding in his head as he heard the noises coming from a nearby tent. It took a while for him to work it out, as he squinted at the glowing light in the tent, hearing a chorus of moans. Realisation hitting him like a truck, he swore, wishing that people could just leave camp rather than hang around camp and force everyone to listen in.

Closing his eyes once more, he tried to blank out the noise in favour of listening to the night, owls calling in the distance and the occasional bark of a coyote sending ripples through the air. But for some reason, there was nothing louder than the noises from the tent and it was growing increasingly difficult to ignore them. It was no help that he had started to develop a hangover, his head starting to feel like it was being pried apart into two, like a squirrel with a nut.

After what felt like far too long, the noises stopped and John let out a sigh of relief, glad that it was finally over. About to settle back down again, he shifted against the barrel, praying that he'd be able to get to sleep despite the headache that was plaguing him. Yet for some reason, upon hearing the sound of parting canvas, he let one eye open to witness Abigail slipping out of the tent that had previously been the cause of the noise. Surprised, both his eyes opened though he feigned disinterest as he watched her leave, some coins in her hand.

The last thing he expected was for her to take notice of him.

Her sharp gaze reached his, the two of them entering a staring contest that didn't seem to end. Time slowed as they both studied each other, gauging the other and working out whether or not they should say anything or keep to themselves. An owl called in the distance, but John could hardly hear it, focusing on her as the stars above crossed over their heads. The light from the moon made her dark hair tint a silvery colour, her cheekbones high as she crossed her arms over herself. It wasn't an act of defence, but more one of challenge. As if she dared him to comment on what she'd been doing in the tent.

She broke away first, time resuming to its usual pace as her expression crumpled and eyebrows bunched, a strong expression forming on her face as she remained proud and haughty despite being caught in the act, turning on her heel and walking in the direction of her lean-to.

Keeping his silence, John's lips formed a thin line as he bowed his head once more, attempting to fall asleep again.

Unsurprisingly, he didn't and instead remained awake the whole night, mind on the brief interaction that he'd had with the prostitute that had joined the gang.

The next morning, he received many comments from the other members telling him that he 'looked like shit' and though he could have rebuffed them, he found that he didn't have the energy to. It wasn't like they were wrong anyway. Even without the eye bags, the ruined complexion from a night of drinking and matted hair, he knew he wasn't the best looker. Ignoring everyone, John focused on trying to get rid of his headache by tossing back a few pints of water and eating what little he could without feeling the urge to throw up the entire contents of his stomach.

Approaching the river near camp, he took to washing his face in the clear liquid, the coolness of the water calming his throbbing temple briefly, though it soon returned with a vengeance. A scowl on his lips at the pain that didn't seem to dull, he made to stand up, only to make eye contact with someone he'd rather avoid.

Abigail.

Truth be told, he wasn't quite sure why he felt the urge to avoid her. He typically avoided most of the girls, not wanting to get caught up in any of their dramas, but she was someone he particularly wanted to keep far away from. He wasn't sure if it was because of what she was or more if it was that it felt like her eyes could read him perfectly. It was like she could see through every chink in his armour, despite the two of them having never met before yesterday.

"Are ya goin' to move or not?" She suddenly asked, eyebrows quirking upwards and startling John from his daze. Mumbling from under his breath, he stepped aside, ducking his head down to look at the ground rather than at her. It was weird, how he found it hard to look at her, how he shied away.

He didn't like that kind of feeling.

Anger building up inside him, he stormed off into the distance, ignoring how Hosea called out to him as he jumped on the back of Old Boy and spurring him onward out of camp. He wasn't the type to leave camp all that often unless Dutch ordered something of him, but this time he felt like he needed some breathing space to himself. Besides, it may have even helped with his headache.

Deep in thought, he rode automatically, eyes practically glazing over until he found himself at Owanjila lake. Urging Old Boy on, he chose to stop by the dam, facing the water as he dismounted, patting the Hungarian Half-bred on the shoulder as he fed him a wild carrot that he had picked on the way. Sitting down by the rocks, he pulled out his fishing rod, deciding that if he was going to be out of camp, then he should at least be able to bring something back for Pearson in case anyone complained.

He spent that day fishing, far away from camp, wondering just why he was affected so much by the new woman about camp.

In the end, he chose to avoid her as much as possible.

For a while, it worked.

For weeks on end, he would dodge spending any of his time in her company. Be it at campfires or about camp in general, he'd simply leave the moment she appeared. Though that was not to say that he didn't encounter her at times like he had when he was drunk before. Almost every week, she had been sleeping her way about the camp, gaining a pretty penny from it depending on how well she did with the men. She'd yet to reach John, much to his relief. He wasn't quite the type to spend money on women; At least, not anymore.

Truth be told, it wasn't that hard to steer clear of her as Dutch upped the number of tasks that he had to do and most of the time she was around either the other men or with the girls under Grimshaw's harsh command. Old Grimshaw had been growing increasingly stressed those days as Dutch started to talk about moving the camp at some point in half a year. Though it was a while away, Grimshaw always had been uptight and Dutch's announcement hadn't come with much warning, completely throwing her off from her usual schedule.

Everything had been going well for John and he'd almost forgotten about his encounters with Abigail, that is until Pearson decided that John would be the best escort for Abigail to go into town with.

"How about ya take John with ya? He may be as dumb as a pile of rocks, but he'll be able to help with that shoppin' list of yours." Pearson spoke up, catching John's attention from where he'd been cleaning out his gun over at the dominoes table. He froze, peering up from his gun to see just who Pearson was talking to, only to see the woman that he'd been avoiding.

Since he'd last observed her, she'd tied her hair back into a messy plait rather than having it loose. Curious, she looked to him in turn, her expression a mask that for some reason he couldn't read. Tensed, he set down his gun and reached for a dirty old rag, wiping any excess gun oil free from his hands.

"Are ya sure there's no one else that can take her?" He called over to Pearson, standing up as he reholstered his gun, hooking his fingers through his belt loops. "Ain't Morgan free to take her or someone else?"

Arthur snorted, appearing from his camp and shaking his head in the direction of the man that he considered his younger brother. "Why, can't handle a small shoppin' trip, Marston?" He teased, leaning against his tent post, amused as he glanced between John and Abigail. Holding back a growl that was in the back of his throat, John turned away, hiding his face behind his hat as that familiar feeling of anger burnt at his senses.

"Shut up, Morgan," He turned back to Abigail, feigning nonchalance, "what do ya need from town that's so damn important that ya can't go alone?" He asked, crossing his arms and staring back at her as fiercely as he could, hoping that she would back off and ask for someone else to accompany her.

It wasn't like she had any limit to the number of people that she could be 'accompanied by' in the camp.

Keeping her cool, she shrugged nonchalantly as if she could care less whether or not she was accompanied. "Pearson is sendin' me out for more provisions from the general store and though I don't think I need any help, Pearson is insistin' because it's a lot to carry on my own, especially when the wagon was stolen after someone's incompetence," Abigail replied calmly and a scowl pinched John's expression at her backhanded comment regarding the wagon, since he had been the one that had lost it after a raid. Arthur was stifling a chuckle behind his fist, averting his eyes while Pearson whistled under his breath.

"Damn, ya sure got a lot of fire in ya, Miss Roberts."

Rolling his eyes, John started toward his mount, anger thrumming through him like a living thin as he barely kept it under control. "Hurry up then, Miss Roberts, else I leave ya behind." He hissed under his breath, wishing that he didn't have to take her with him, but also knowing that if he didn't it would be taken up with either Hosea or Dutch. It was his fault for losing the wagon, so it was only natural that he went off on every shopping trip that the camp required.

Not checking to see if she was following him, he approached Old Boy and mounted him, patting him on the side as he studied her as she approached. On the way to him, the prostitute had grabbed a shopping bag from her lean-to, before coming to a stop in front of him.

"Don't ya have ya own damn horse?" He grumbled after a while, realising that she was looking at him expectantly.

She cocked an eyebrow in response. "I ain't been out of this camp since I arrived, how the hell am I meant to have a horse?"

Groaning, he ran a hand down his face, wishing that he'd left camp when he'd been planning to rather than putting off the task and choosing to clean out his guns instead.

"Fine," John scowled, holding out a hand for her to hold onto, "but I ain't goin' to slow down for ya or anythin' like that." Her smooth hand slipped into his as he helped her onto the back of Old Boy. She gently placed her hands around his waist, holding on tightly enough to remain steady and not accidentally fall off.

"Ya don't have to, Mr. Marston, I ain't the type to fall off of a horse."

He grimaced at her words. "Jesus, just call me John." He shook his head, disliking being called by his surname simply because of the stiffness of it. Digging his heels into Old Boy's sides, he flicked the reins and set off at a simple trot until he left the camp. Even so, Abigail felt it necessary to tease him.

"I thought ya weren't goin' to slow down."

"Would ya rather we bolted out of camp and bumped into another rider?" He questioned, briefly looking back at her as the anger that he'd been suppressing seeped back into his tone. Much to his surprise though, he found her stifling a laugh at his words, her eyes alight with amusement. Any other retort that he may have had disappeared and he held his tongue, setting his jaw and turning back to the front to focus on the road, else his warning about bumping into another rider came true.

Despite promising not to slow down, he found himself doing so anyway simply to make sure that he didn't tire out Old Boy since he wasn't used to carrying two riders rather than one. The ride was for the most part in silence as John distracted himself from looking out into the forests, on the watch for any predators that would attempt to snap at his horse. So far, he'd found the main issue in Strawberry to be the snakes and wolves, though he had occasionally crossed a bear if he'd strayed too far up north. Abigail had remained blissfully quiet for the most part, also taking in the surroundings hungrily, to which it occurred to John that she probably hadn't been out of camp all that much considering how she hadn't left since Uncle had brought her in.

Ignoring that thought, he continued the ride, grateful for the silence until Abigail found it necessary to speak up.

"We haven't had much of a chance to talk, have we?" She mused, asking herself more than actually talking to John, though he knew that either way she expected an answer of him. Sighing deeply, he attempted to let the question hang as he spurred on Old Boy, though it didn't seem to work. "I can't say I've seen ya around camp all that much, what ya been doin'?"

Foolishly, he chose to try and ignore it, only for her to start digging her fingers into his sides, causing him to tense. "Hey!"

"Then answer my question." Abigail huffed, somewhat childishly, inciting another groan from John, once again regretting his mistake of staying in camp to clean his guns.

"Been workin' some jobs for Dutch and goin' out gettin' food for Pearson," He resigned, briefly glancing back at her curious expression, "why do ya care so much anyway?"

Her face became guarded and she shrugged it off, staring into the distance at some flowers that were growing in the woods. Gradually, John shifted his attention away from her once more, an air of awkwardness growing between the two that he didn't expect. In the end, she stayed silent though, so he decided to let it be even if it let a knot form in his stomach as the tension seemed to build up between the two of them.

After a painfully long journey, they both finally reached Strawberry and John came to a stop outside of the general store, watching her slip off of the Hungarian Half-Bred so that she could head into the store.

"Thanks for the ride," A small smile pulled at her lips, though it was soon replaced by a frown, "where can I find ya for the ride back?"

Looking around, the outlaw gazed at the small town, wishing that there was at least a saloon that he could visit as he waited for her to finish her shopping. "I'll be here, ain't got nothin' better to do." He shrugged, swinging his leg over Old Boy so that he could jump down to the muddy ground, watching as some of the dirt splattered up his newly washed trouser's leg. Something told him that the girls wouldn't be all too happy about that, but he ignored it and head over to the bench outside of the general store while Abigail disappeared inside.

Reaching into his pockets, he pulled out a packet of cigarettes and shook one free to light it, sticking it between his lips as he shoved the packet back into his pocket. Breathing in deeply, he plucked the cigarette free from his lips as he breathed out, elbows resting on his knees as he lazily watched the town. The stream of smoke was calming as it danced through the air and he soon found himself putting the cigarette to his lips once more in an endless loop till it was just a stub that he merely flicked away. Sighing, he started to realise how boring it was to wait for someone while they were shopping and was praying that she'd hurry up, though he knew it was unlikely. The only way to hurry her up would be if he walked in there and helped out with the shopping and he'd rather not live with that awkwardness.

It was at times like these that he could see why Arthur kept that journal of his and was constantly drawing in it. At least it was something to do while waiting for others to hurry up.

John was about to rest his eyes for a moment, till he heard a yell come from inside the shop. Frowning, he tensed and stood up, listening in on the conversation.

"Ain't you that whore that stole from Mr Jameson a few weeks back?" A man, that he assumed to be the shopkeeper called out and John found himself peeking through the window, taking in the situation quickly. The shopkeeper was holding Abigail by the wrist from where she had been browsing some items, her face a pale colour that didn't suit her. He was so used to seeing her standing proud that seeing her afraid was a foreign concept to him. Annoyance played at his senses, really starting to wish that he'd left camp sooner as he stepped into the shop, resting his hand on the holster of his gun.

"Is there a problem here?" He interrogated the shopkeeper, eyes narrowed as tension built in the air. Abigail turned to him, eyes meeting his and that stifling feeling that he felt around her returned. Like she could see right through him. But this time it mingled with another feeling that he was familiar with, just not in this kind of context. Anger. At the shopkeeper for holding onto her so tightly, for ruining what was meant to be a simple shopping trip. But something else was there, some other feeling that he couldn't quite place, couldn't name.

Or more, didn't want to.

"This lady was tryin' to steal from my shop!"

Lazily, John's eyes drifted over to where she had been browsing the store, trying to keep his cool and handle the situation smartly without him having to shoot anyone. "Are ya sure she wasn't just lookin' around?"

"Sir, I've seen this whore about before, she stole from a man a few weeks back. Small bounty is on her head, there is." He nodded his expression one of confidence and entirely certain of his words.

It was then, that for once, John had a plan that could actually work out. A plan that even Arthur, Dutch or Hosea would call brilliant or smart, for him, that is.

"In that case," His attention drifted back to Abigail, wetting his lips, "how about I take her back to the Sheriff's office for ya? I don't want ya leavin' your store with no one watchin' it." Abigail's eyes widened in shock at John's words, lips forming a small circle as fear built up for her eyes in a moment until she could barely speak.

He almost felt hurt that she genuinely believed that he was going to take her in.

"Oh," the shopkeeper's expression brightened considerably, like a cloud that had been crossing it had disappeared, "if ya could do that, it would be splendid, thank you, sir!" He smiled, easily pushing her in John's direction. She stumbled over her own feet, landing in his arms as he caught her, gripping her shoulders.

"Come with me," He said harshly, before quickly muttering under his breath, "relax, I ain't handin' you over to no Sheriff," Despite his words, she remained tense as John led her out of the door, eyes darting around the street as he approached where his horse was hitched, "we're goin' to have to mount up and get out of here quickly; He may alert the law." He jerked his head in the direction of the shopkeeper, casting a dirty look at the general store. Abigail nodded barely visibly and John took a deep breath, before letting go of her and jumping onto the back of his horse, holding out a hand and pulling her up this time. Startled by the speed of the moment, her arms wrapped around his torso properly as he spurred Old Boy into a canter, speeding out of the town and dodging the occasionally town resident that was walking in the middle of the street.

In the background, the outlaw heard the shopkeeper's voice yelling and he hissed a curse under his breath as he tightened his grips on the reins, knowing that it would be harder to avoid the law with another person on his horse.

Dodging trees and various obstacles, he diverted off of the main path and headed towards Mount Shann, knowing of a blind spot that most didn't notice when riding past. It was a treacherous journey in terms of navigating around rocks and debris, Old Boy just barely managing to keep steady as he dodged all manner of stones until he reached a copse of trees nearby the mountain.

"Get off, quickly," John ordered in a hushed voice and Abigail wasted no time in doing as he said, automatically getting off. Since the time in the general store, she'd steeled herself once more and she looked far more prepared and prideful than she had earlier. It was almost like she was back to normal, though he could still see some hesitance in her actions judging by how she repeatedly swiped strands of hair behind her ear. Leaping off of his mount, he hit his horse on the back, encouraging him to run off.

"What are ya doin'?" Abigail whispered, confused that he'd let their only chance of escape leave, though there was also a layer of frustration hidden within her words as though she thought that he wasn't thinking anything through.

"Follow me," He didn't bother answering her question and led her towards a large bush that rested in the copse of trees, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her inside of it with him. The leaves folded back from where they entered, bouncing back out as if nothing happened, "stay quiet." He hushed her as there was the sound of horses approaching. Shifting his weight, he crouched properly, squinting through the gap in the leaves and watching as some lawmen appeared.

"Y'all seen which way they went?"

"Nah, I think they lost us."

"Shit." The other cursed, his horse prancing skittishly as he scanned the area. For a moment, his gaze focused on the bush and John found himself clamping his hand over Abigail's mouth as she nearly gasped.

There was a long pause. It felt like time lasted an hour, though the reality was that it was barely a minute until the law left.

The two stayed silent for a pause longer, until they felt like the lawmen had properly left. Relaxing, he let his hand drop from her mouth, cocking an eyebrow at her as his lips drew up in a half-smile. "Did ya really think that I was dumb enough to just send away my horse without a plan?"

She replied without hesitation, despite her initial fear that still held her captive from earlier. "Yes."

He scoffed, a chuckle passing his lips as he looked up at the canopy of leaves above the two. "Ya really are somethin', Miss Roberts."

Her expression soured somewhat, though it was soon to be replaced with a coy smile. "Call me Abigail."

A stillness froze the conversation as John studied her, the pale layer of freckles resting on her skin as the dappled sunlight crossed her face. Just like that time at the tent, time slowed for the two. Her blue eyes seemed brighter, more intense as she stared at him in return, her lips still curled into that smile of hers. Becoming hyperaware of everything, John watched as a leaf fell from the bush and landed on her head.

He had to stop himself from reaching out to pluck it free, his fingers practically twitching to remove it. Stopping himself, he broke the moment, looking away to place his fingers between his lips instead to whistle for his horse.

"We should head back now," He said, his mouth feeling weirdly dry, his voice raspier than usual, "we'll have some explainin' to do to Pearson about the provisions."

"Yeah," Abigail replied, her voice quiet and filled with something that John couldn't quite place. He couldn't help but feel curious about her. About how he couldn't understand a single thing that she was thinking or feeling. There were just things in general that he wanted to know about her as well. Like why she'd become a prostitute or why she'd ended up joining the gang because there was no way that Uncle had threatened her into having no other choice than joining.

The outlaw was the first to emerge from the bush, trying to ignore that the feeling that he'd been trying to avoid had returned. Getting back on his horse, he held out a hand to Abigail, pulling her up onto Old Boy.

The ride was completely silent on the way back.

The two of them barely talked for the next week, though occasionally John would sneak some glances over at her, curious as to what she was doing. One thing that he had noticed was that she hadn't been sleeping with other men about camp recently, which remained a mystery to him other than assuming that the others had grown too boring for her. He wasn’t even all that sure why it bothered him; Not knowing what she was doing, but it was starting to become a small habit of his where he’d occasionally wonder what she was up to, even when away from camp. Especially away from camp, as he’d be unable to check up on her ultimately. It was something that boggled his mind to no end, a frown becoming a more common expression on his face whenever he was thinking about her.

He’d mentioned his conundrum briefly to Hosea once, though the older man shed no new light on the subject, only shaking his head with a small smile.

“Ya haven’t matured despite all these years, have you, John?”

Deciding that he’d rather not be tormented by Hosea, he had left that conversation there, though he still couldn’t help but think about those words, wondering just what Hosea meant by how he hadn’t matured.

Growing more and more frustrated and irritable, John took to avoiding camp, instead finding himself in the occasional bar fight though he usually wasn’t the type for that.

After a few days out camping on his own, John returned to camp, ignoring the greetings called to him by other gang members. Specifically Sean, who wanted to find a way to get under his skin, as usual, talking about his ‘da’ and prodding about why the outlaw hadn’t been in camp as often as normal. Ignoring the Irishman, he headed towards the river, crouching down by it to wash his face.

“Ain’t seen ya around for a bit.” A voice came from above and he nearly jumped out of his skin, almost falling into the river, his heart skipping too many beats for it to be healthy.

“Hey, why are ya goin’ around startlin’ people like tha-” John started to complain, before tensing to see that it was Abigail. Though she didn’t seem too offended by his words, instead, it was more that she was looking through him once more, able to read his every emotion. For some reason, that irritated him further.

“Sorry for shockin’ ya, just wanted to say hi.” She smiled briefly, studying him as John rose to his feet, taking another step away from the water’s edge out of caution.

It was shockingly hard to stay mad at her.

And that was a problem that John had never had before.

Yet, he strengthened his resolve. All his fury and frustrations from the past few weeks had started since she arrived and he would rather distance himself from her than constantly experience that uncomfortable feeling that he couldn’t bring himself to face. “Well, ya said hi, so ya can leave now.”

Her expression pinched and though at first John expected her to storm off, she stood her ground. “What’s got ya in such a mood? All I did was come and say hi and you’re treatin’ it like it’s some kind of crime.”

“Did it ever occur to ya that I may want to be alone?” He snapped back, not thinking as the words flowed out of him with ease, so used to pushing people away that it had started to become natural. For a moment, John thought that he saw a flash of hurt light up her face like lightning in a storm, but in the blink of an eye, it was gone.

“Well, I apologise for havin’ disturbed ya, Mr. Marston,” She said pointedly, a wince crossing John’s face at her words.

“Is there any other reason why you’re still here? I ain’t the type to want the company of a whore.” The outlaw questioned, unable to stop himself at this point, the insult leaving his lips before he could realise what he was saying as he narrowed his eyes at Abigail.

This time, the hurt on her face was clear to him and he tensed, eyes widening slightly. “Well, I was goin’ to ask how you’ve been since I’ve barely seen ya,” She started, her voice growing cold, “should I apologise for worryin’ about you too?” Stunned into silence, John could barely react, mouth parting a little as he stared at her. Her expression set in stone, she pivoted to walk away, looking back for a moment, “forgive me, I’ll leave ya be for now since my company is so revoltin’ to ya.”

Within a minute, she was gone, leaving John stood there in silence. The unfamiliar feeling of regret pulled at his senses as he clenched his fists, looking away and kicking aside a stone into the river.

“Shit!” He swore, pacing about the riverbank as he ran his fingers through his hair. He was growing more and more confused about himself by the second. There was no reason for him to care about his words so much, yet he knew just how harsh he’d been in a moment of impulsiveness. The tension over the past few days caused by his conflicted thoughts and feelings around her that seemed to have no reason. It baffled him to no end, why he seemed to think about Abigail so much. Why he couldn’t help but be drawn to her. Why he would get that feeling that made him feel so vulnerable. How he couldn’t seem to control himself around her. How he seemed so bothered about her opinion of him.

Looking up to the bright blue sky, he frowned at the perfect weather, somehow finding it yet another thing to be angry about. But in the end, he knew what he was doing. He was just displacing the fury onto something or someone else other than himself, as he always did.

Scowling, he left the riverbank, for once feeling furious at his actions rather than anyone else’s, yet he had no damn idea why.

Once he got into camp, he was about to settle back in his tent and mull in his fury, only to find himself being stopped by a serious-looking Hosea. Freezing, John’s eyes automatically scanned the camp as Hosea approached, watching as Abigail paused from talking to the girls, her eyes glaring between him and Hosea.

Paling, he quickly came to realise that she’d told the old man what he’d said to her. In an attempt to escape, he started to walk in the other direction, in the back of his mind thinking about how her eyes had looked like they had a tinge of red to them. He didn’t get long to dwell on the matter, however, as Hosea caught up to him and placed his hand on John’s shoulder.

“John,” He started, his tone a warning and John couldn’t help but wince, cowering out of habit under the old man’s tone. He knew that Hosea was the most thorough with his admonishments from previous experience, “come and have a talk with me.”

“I’m busy-”

“Humour me.” He cut off the outlaw, eyes narrowing sharply as John relaxed, giving up on all chance of escape as he visibly sagged. Noticing that he’d given up, Hosea released him from his grip and headed in the direction of the area outside of camp that he frequented to escape from the daily bustle.

John felt like the trip to the little ledge just outside of camp was way too short than it had to be.

“So, John, is there anythin’ you’d like to tell me?” Hosea asked, his tone harsh and similar to how he used to talk to the outlaw back when he was younger.

“Ya already know, is there any use in beatin’ around the damn bush?” He hissed in response, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, tossing aside the match as he sulked, taking a seat down on the ledge while Hosea followed.

“It’d be nice to see ya admit your own mistake for once…” The old man sighed in response as John grumbled to himself, resting his elbows on his thighs.

“I don’t need to admit it to know that it was a mistake,” He groaned, running his hands down his face as he stared out into the distance blankly, “though I ain’t all that sure why it’s on my mind so much.”

Hosea stared at John, a look of pure disappointment and oddly enough, awe, dripping from his expression as he shook his head to himself. “Ya really don’t know why ya mind it?”

Frustrated, John threw up his arms and stood from where he’d been sat, pacing back and forth to let off some of his steam as he tossed his barely spent cigarette aside. He was starting to grow annoyed with how everyone but him seemed to know why he was so conflicted and confused, yet not one person was explaining a thing to him.

“How am I meant to know? It’s not like anyone is tellin’ me anythin’!” He growled, feeling like a caged-in animal, while Hosea stared at him with his expression morphing once more, except this time it was one of pity. A spark of irritation shuddered through him as he clenched his jaw, looking away from the old man as he tried to keep his cool, though he was starting to fail miserably.

“Oh you know,” Hosea stood up, dusting down his trousers and watching John as if he was a pile of dynamite that was going to blow at any moment, “you’re just in denial about it. Ya know that ya can’t keep ignorin’ it for long.”

“Ignorin’ what?” He asked exasperatedly, turning back to Hosea, his tone turning far more pleading than he would have preferred. “What is it that I don’t get?”

“John, what is the reason behind ya bein’ like this?”

“Abigail, at least I’ve been like this since she came along.” He deadpanned, crossing his arms and waiting for Hosea to answer, but the older man just nodded silently, as if he expected the answer to just come to John. The outlaw’s brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what Hosea was getting at. His mind flew through all the times he’d been with Abigail, from when he’d first met her, to the time he saw her after she’d slept with someone, to the time in Strawberry and how she’d nervously clung to him like a lifeline when riding out of the town. Before finally reaching today, when he’d snapped at her and said something that he had instantly regretted. The hurt on her face and the pang of pain that he felt in response. The way how her eyes were slightly red before he headed off to talk with Hosea.

His face slackened as the realisation hit him like a train. “No, I can’t- That wouldn’t make sense, we’ve barely even-”

Hosea cocked a brow at John, trying to hide his slight amusement at the young outlaw’s predicament. “Took ya long enough to figure it out,” He chuckled softly, “and judgin’ by her actions lately, I’d say she’s sweet on ya too.”

“I ain’t-” He cut himself off, nearly shouting as he lowered his voice to talk with Hosea, feeling his face burning a shameful red, “I ain’t sweet on her.”

“You’re smarter than lyin’ to yourself like this.”

John fell quiet, unable to find any words to return with, as a sinking feeling dropped into his stomach. Deflating as all his bravado disappeared, he sat back down on the ledge, head in his hands. “And I called her a whore… Jesus…” He sighed, the regret coming back with a vengeance as he peered through his fingers, hating how someone could tear him apart so easily.

“Go and apologise then.”

“It ain’t that easy.” John groaned, unable to think positively at this point, as he started to believe that Abigail already hated him for what he’d said. Hell, if he were her, he’d hate him too.

“Yes it is, your pride is just gettin’ in the way,” Hosea patted him on the back, half turned away as he prepared to leave, “go talk to her, or she may end up with someone else.”

At Hosea’s words, a scowl crossed John’s face like a reflex, as just imagining her with someone else started to cause a disgusting feeling to rise in his stomach. It reminded him of fury, but more potent to the point it was almost palpable and with a start, he came to recognise the emotion as jealousy.

He spent a good part of his evening pondering over his discovery, while also wrestling with the unfounded jealousy that had been caused by Hosea’s simple comment. In the end, he decided that either way he had to talk to Abigail, not because he wanted to apologise but more for the sake of making things less awkward around camp. That was it, rather than having to worry about being sweet on her.

After procrastinating for as long as possible, he finally stood up and headed into camp. It was late at night now, the moon hanging high and an array of constellations strewn out against the dark fabric that was the night sky. Trying his best to ignore the nerves that danced his stomach and threatened to suffocate him, he swallowed them down as he approached her tent where she sat reading a book. Everyone else appeared to be asleep, which gave John some room to breathe, as he’d rather not have an audience.

Appearing from the shadows, he stood and waited, wondering how to approach her. Instead, she noticed him first, glancing up and jumping, her book falling to the ground as she lost her page.

“Mind if I,” He paused, his throat bizarrely dry, “if I talk with ya for a bit?”

Recovering swiftly, she turned her attention away from John, not deeming him necessary to look in the face. “Why? I though I wasn’t worth any of ya precious time. Or was it more that I was too revoltin’ to talk to for too long?”

“I-” He struggled to speak, tensing as he tried to avoid letting his temper control his words, as that hadn’t turned out too well for him last time. Yet as soon as he saw that flash of hurt dance in her eyes, any temper that he may have had disappeared as fast as a hunted rabbit, “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t even mean it-” He cut himself off again, trying to gesticulate a little as he looked to the ground rather than at her, hating the claustrophobic feeling that made it harder and harder for him to breathe, “look, I shouldn’t have said it, so I’m not the best at articulatin’ what I mean to say and it doesn’t always come out as it should. I- Jesus…” He trailed off, finding it damn near impossible to even try and explain himself, “I’ll just go.” John finished curtly, about to turn on his heel and leave, only to be stopped as Abigail’s hand gripped his wrist. Her expression was cautious, lips drawn in a thin line as she held onto him, but she remained resolute.

“I’ll hear ya out, but I can’t promise anythin’,” She said, though there was some reluctance to her tone, her eyes soft and gentle. Finding it difficult to answer, he simply nodded, his expression reflecting hers, “do ya want to come inside to talk?” She asked, though she soon hurriedly added to her question, “I don’t think either of us wants anyone wakin’ and intrudin’ on us.”

He murmured an agreement as she finally freed his wrist before opening the entrance to her tent as he slipped inside. It was only small, her bed roll placed in a corner and some of her belongings in a chest and other that it was empty except for the two of them. He felt awkward and out of place, getting more uncomfortable by the minute but also knowing that it was something necessary that he had to do. Abigail stared at him in return, those piercing eyes of hers seeing through him once more as he dug his nails into the palms of his hands.

“I’d like to,” He coughed, forcing the words out, “apologise for earlier. It wasn’t right of me to say and I know nothin’ can make up for that, but I was in a bad mood and I acted without thinkin’ as usual.” His tone dipped as he frowned a little at himself, wanting to look anywhere but at her, but the size of the tent made it impossible to do so as they were both in such close proximity to each other to the point that they were nearly touching, just a few centimetres of distance between them.

Abigail listened intently, worrying her bottom lip into her mouth as she thought hard and long to herself, only making the tension thicken in the air to the point it was palpable.

“You’re right that it wasn’t somethin’ for you to say and I know that ya said it out of impulse but still,” she fell quiet, lowering her eyes for a moment, “ya word hurt me either way and I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive you just yet.”

His temper seemed to rise at her words as he fought to quell it. “That’s fine,” He said through grit teeth, while her eyebrows furrowed as she studied the outlaw, until he finally snapped, “can ya stop lookin’ at me like that?”

Taken aback, her eyes widened and she shrivelled away, though she soon returned with a curious tone mingled into her voice. “Lookin’ at you like what?”

“Like ya can see through me or like ya just know everythin’. It’s condescendin’,” he hated how he stumbled over that word, “It drives me mad, how it feels like ya always know what I’m thinkin’ or that you understand how I’m feelin’.” He hissed, tone growing more hostile by the second, forgetting that he was meant to be apologising to her and letting his heart rule him more than his head as usual.

Her expression hardened. “I ain’t tryin’ to study ya or anythin’; I’m just thinkin’, or is it wrong for me to do that too?”

He relented some. “No, that isn’t what I meant.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Abigail pressed, this time her anger intertwined with her words as her eyes flashed, “why is it that no matter what I do, ya seem to be angry with me? Is there anythin’ that I can even do without ya gettin’ mad at me?”

“I don’t know, Abigail!” He threw his arms up in frustration, watching as her eyes widened for a moment.

“Then what is it, John?” She countered, her following words falling on deaf ears.

In a second, John tensed, caught off guard. He didn’t know why it threw him off so much or why it affected him so, but the way that she wasn’t scared to talk back surprised him. Though it wasn’t just that. He’d seen her talk back to other men in camp, her tongue as quick as a whip. The main thing that made him freeze was how she’d called him by his name. It wasn’t something that he expected to be sensitive over, but this was oddly the first time that she’d used his first name and the emotion behind it was powerful and filled with emotions that he couldn’t quite place. It was with a start that he also realised that he had used her name for the first time as well, the same emotions in place behind her name as the ones she had when using his name.

That was when something snapped in him and he stilled.

“Are ya even listenin’ to me?” Abigail’s voice broke through, though her anger seemingly diminished as she noticed the expression that John was wearing, falling silent as she studied him.

They stayed like that for a while, simply locked onto each other as the tension that had been culminating for the whole of their time in the tent seemed to reach its crescendo. Without even noticing it, the two had started to lean towards each other, closing the small gap that was between them.

It didn’t truly hit John what was happening till his fingers brushed her cheek and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, before looking to him, lips slightly parted and cheeks flushed as she breathed out in an uneven pattern. Time seemed to slow for John once more, as he saw more than he usually would. How Abigail wouldn’t look anywhere but at him, how their shadows were practically entwined in the small confines of the tent. He could see small freckles that dotted her face that he’d never noticed before. The black strands of hair that she’d left untied before bed, resting just past her shoulders and how it framed her face perfectly.

Yet, despite all that time to think as time slowed for the two, not once did John stop to think about his actions, acting as he wanted to rather than holding back and continuing to argue with her.

Time sped up once more as Abigail reached out for him, her arms looping around his neck as his lips found hers. They brushed past each other, stopping for a moment and meeting each other’s eyes in a silent agreement. Truthfully, John had expected her to reject him, his stomach dropping in anticipation for a moment.

What he didn’t expect was for her to lean in first and start kissing him. Her lips crashing into his, he fell onto his back as she cupped his face, half-lying on him as he slipped his fingers through her smooth hair. It was like a heavy weight that he’d been lifting on his shoulders disappeared the moment that she accepted him, his heart lightening considerably as he returned the kiss with as much fervour without thought to his actions.

Abigail parted from him, staring down with her hands still holding his face. “God, I never thought-”

He stopped her, capturing her lips once more in a series of short kisses that left the two hungry for more. The break in between each kiss was filled with the two looking to each other, their longing for each other finally being sated. Like waves crashing into each other, they met each other with as much passion as they could, hands wandering and holding onto the other, trying to remove any space that remained between them.

At some point, clothes started to be torn away, removing any boundaries that had remained between them. John’s rough fingertips ran down her skin, tracing every inch of her and memorising it as if he thought what was happening was a dream. Oddly enough, nerves filled his body as he reached out to her, the two sharing another deep kiss as they confessed their feelings through their movements.

“John…” Abigail breathed, her hand running down his jaw as she gazed up at him as the two met, becoming one. He nodded shakily, his hand reaching up to hold onto hers as he intertwined their fingers, placing a tender kiss on each finger.

It was strange how they’d gone from avoiding each other to meeting each other in the middle, the two in synchronisation as they murmured small things to each other, little incomprehensible words that neither of the two would remember come morning. Yet every little message carried a meaning of importance to the other as they held onto each other, clinging on with a desperation that they didn’t know that they had. John’s free hand tangled in her hair, while hers roamed his body, dancing down his shoulder to rest on his chest, feeling his heart beat in time with hers.

The time had felt short, but the tension that had risen before continued to rise, until the two could barely hold back. Then, in one beautiful and unexpected moment, Abigail forced John to a stop, bother her hands framing his face once more and pulling him in for a long kiss. He groaned, muttering something under his breath as the two became one for a spectacular few moments, both shuddering into each other and holding on like there was no one else in the world as their stars crossed paths.

And then it was all over and the two parted, the distance growing between them once more as they stared at each other, only able to breathe heavily as it set in just what they’d done. John’s hand covered his mouth as he came to his senses. Tensing, he averted his gaze, fist clenched as he tried to come to terms with everything.

“John?” Abigail called out, her tone of voice one of longing but also fear. Fear that he’d leave or that he regretted what he’d just done. But the truth was, John didn’t regret it at all, it was more that surprise had him in its grips. It was like in a moment, before he even thought anything through, the two had become one as pure instinct and pent up emotion overflowed. Swallowing, he found himself reaching out once more, his hand cupping her jaw.

“Yeah?” He replied breathlessly, letting his forehead fall against hers as he gazed into her eyes. An unfamiliar emotion that rarely surfaced started to sprout in his stomach, a knot of worry and fear. Fear that he wouldn’t be good enough or that he was just another one of the many men that she’d slept with. That insecurity that made him feel far too fragile and weak, which usually led to him pushing people away. But as he looked into those bright, intelligent and earnest blue eyes, he found himself letting any walls that he’d built up go, letting her in just as she’d let him in. Abigail sighed as he caressed her jaw, coarse fingers dancing until they were behind her head, playing with her hair as he let a soft kiss press against her smooth lips, brushing past her to the point that it felt like they’d barely even touched.

“Will-” Her voice broke, sending a shudder down John’s spine, “will ya stay with me? Please.” Abigail added, her fingers still entwined with his. He felt his stomach drop as he couldn’t help but feel happiness that he hadn’t experienced in a long while.

“‘Course…” He murmured as the two split apart for a moment as Abigail moved to set up her bedroll, her fingers quivering as she appeared far more vulnerable than she usually did. Wetting his lips, he leant forward to hang over her, hands stroking down her back and moving aside her hair so that he could place the gentlest of kisses on the tops of her shoulders. Pausing in her actions, she turned back to John, one hand reaching up to hold his face again, bringing their lips together.

When they parted again, she finished setting up the bedroll before crawling into it and reaching out to him as he let her pull him into her embrace. The same desperation from earlier returned and he held her close to his chest, peppering the top of her head with more kisses, demonstrating affection that he didn’t even know that he was capable of.

The moment tender, Abigail finally settled, briefly looking up at him before letting her eyes flutter shut, safe in his embrace. Warmth blossomed in John’s chest as he let his own eyes close, promising that he would never let her go from then on.

\---

It was a few weeks later when Abigail greeted John after he’d returned from another job that Dutch had sent him on. A small smile crawling onto his lips, he greeted her, though he soon recognised the worried expression on her face, he tensed wondering what was wrong. Her eyebrows were bunched together, lips drawn downwards as she hugged her chest tightly.

“John, can I speak with ya for a second?” She questioned, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear, as she shifted her weight a few times, clearly anxious. His frown matching hers, he nodded, waving off the others.

“Sure, what’s wrong?”

Instead of answering, Abigail gestured for him to follow as she moved towards their tent, her hand finding his as they entered. She took a seat on one of the bedrolls, her hands resting on her stomach as she looked around nervously, her face pale. She’d been falling sick a lot lately and John had started to worry for her, though he didn’t show it all that much, not knowing how to.

“John, I-” Her voice cracked, jaw tensing as she finally looked up at him after a short period. It was with a start then that he realised that the corners of her eyes were tinted a sore red, “I think I’m-” She swallowed again, finding it hard to force the words out, “I’m pregnant.” She practically whispered, staring at him as she watched for his reaction earnestly.

But John hardly noticed her actions, eyes widening somewhat as his lips parted, though he soon drew them back into a frown. Tension filled the air as a roar of emotions thundered through him like waves. Confusion, anger and so many other emotions he couldn’t name.

Yet oddly only one of those feelings resonated with him the most, the one emotion that he didn’t expect to have, as he rarely experienced it.

Fear.

“And?” He turned to her, throat dry as he waited for her verdict, knowing that her bit wasn’t over yet.

“I think- I know- it’s yours.” Abigail finished, sounding more confident and haughty, just as she’d been when they’d first met. It was almost like a challenge to him, but in truth, he knew it was mainly a front.

And yet, he still reacted adversely.

“How can ya be so sure?”

Her eyes widened in shock at his bluntness, eyebrows furrowing as she gestured around the tent. “John, who else could it be? I didn’t lay with anyone for a bit, until you.” She scowled, seeming offended by his question, but John’s mind was running a mile a minute. It was so many things to process, too many, as fear and denial spread through his mind like poison. Shaking his head, he remained stubborn, not wanting to believe what she was calling the truth at any cost.

“Really?” He scoffed, voice coming out harsher than he wanted it to as he spoke on impulse, “how do I know that ya ain’t lyin’, Abigail? Ya can’t be forgettin’ what ya used to be.” He regretted his words the instant that he said them, mind flying back to that time before he’d admitted his feelings for her, back when he called her a whore down by the river. But the words had left his lips and there was no swallowing them back, so instead, he remained resolute, trying to ignore the ache in his chest as he watched her expression crack into one of shock, denial, then finally anger.

“John Marston, why are ya actin’ like this? It can’t be anyone other than you, why are you denyin’ that?” She hissed, tone gradually raising as John shook his head, preparing to leave the tent, “Where are ya goin’? Are ya just goin’ to run away?!” Abigail remained persistent as he got up and started striding out of the tent, his pace quickening in an attempt to escape, his inexplicable fear gradually reaching a crescendo. Ripping his bag from where he’d left it on a table, he kept going, letting his legs take him without much thought as to where he was going.

“John!” Abigail called after him, practically shrieking as he mounted Old Boy silently, “fine then!” she shouted, coming to a stop and staring after him, her blue eyes icy and fractured like glass, “just leave! Run away like ya always do! You’re a coward, John Marston!” Screaming, she yelled after him as he spurred his horse forwards, leaving the camp without another word as she swore and cursed him out, wishing all kinds of wretched things upon him before dissolving into sobs.

He kept riding from then on, out through Strawberry, past the bush that they’d hidden in once before, nearby the mountains until he finally came to a stop when he thought the distance was appropriate enough. Chest heaving, he cried out into the wilderness, kicking something aside as waves of anger pulsed off of him. Except the anger was aimed at himself, as he had become accustomed to as he growled, wanting to expel his fury on something, someone, but finding that there was no one around for him to do that. He was alone.

Tossing down his hat, he clutched his head, running one hand down his face as he felt his blood pressure lower as he stood in the clearing, feeling hollow. Standing still for the first time in a few hours, he looked to the sky as it rumbled, clouds forming overhead as raindrops started to fall from the sky.

He didn’t return to camp for a long time after that.

Not because he didn’t want to.

He longed to. To see Abigail, to see those piercing eyes, to feel her touch once more.

But he couldn’t bring himself to. Every time he attempted it, that fear of being rejected, fear of being responsible for another life other than his own, that fear of having something so fragile, so weak that can easily be taken away from him.

So he went back and forth, occasionally sneaking back to peer in on the camp, even though he knew he shouldn’t else he be caught.

One night, after a year had passed, he snuck back intending to leave as usual and keep his distance. The camp was quiet and it was late at night, now moved from where it had originally been to the otherside of Strawberry. Silent, he stepped through the camp to check up on Abigail, wanting to make sure that she was okay, to ease that longing in his chest.

Instead, he found himself coming to a stop as he heard the sound of an infant crying. Tensing, he slowly pivoted, looking towards a cot that he hadn’t noticed since it had been hidden in the shadows. Approaching it without meaning to, he soon found himself in front of it, peering down at the baby that lay within. It was squirming in its blankets, having kicked them off, mouth wide open as it wailed. Tufts of gentle brown hair rested on its head and with a start, John realised who’s the baby was, as he gasped and looked in the direction of Abigail’s tent. The child suddenly squealed and he faced back at it, about to take a few steps back to leave, only to notice that the baby was reaching out, chubby hands grasping for something.

Without thinking once more, John instinctively reached out as well, a small gasp leaving his parted lips as the baby held onto his fingers, its wailings becoming small giggles as it hiccupped to itself.

The next day, he returned to camp.

Needless to say, he was met with all the camp members yelling at him, Abigail most of all as she remained the most distant from him. Arthur was as forgiving as her, his expression set in stone as he refused to talk to John.

It was understandable, since he’d disappeared for a year and came back announcing that he admitted himself as the child’s father. But he didn’t mind abandoning his pride and facing the fears that he had, as long as he could be part of the child’s life and Abigail’s again.

It took a few days of constant pestering until he got to find out the child’s name.

“What did ya call him, Abigail? You can at least tell me that.” He practically pleaded, following behind her as she coddled the child, walking away from John. He continued to interrogate her with his questions until she finally whirled around, her eyes red and hair tied up in a messy bun as she stood firm and proud.

“John. I named him John,” She growled, her voice breaking for a moment as John froze, “though most of us around here call him Jack.”

And with that, Abigail left, leaving John in a stupor as regret and self-loathing was at the forefront of his mind once more.

Time passed, arguments constantly reigning between the two throughout the years, though they did grow closer as they raised Jack together. At one point, even Arthur had found it to forgive John, much to the outlaw’s relief. He didn’t expect there to be such a weight on his shoulders at the thought of the man he considered his brother constantly avoiding him, but now that he’d been forgiven, a weight that he had been carrying for so long disappeared.

Yet he never truly got to make it up to Arthur, as his brother died young, protecting John and his family, as well as the other gang members.

There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t think of Arthur and his choices, promising that he’d make it upto Abigail if he couldn’t make it up to his brother.

More time passed, faster than John could have ever expected as he spent more and more time with Jack and in turn, Abigail, till he started working on a ranch. Of course, it was only natural that he messed up once more, waking up one morning to an empty home to find that the two had left, deeming him too wrapped up in his old ways to ever change.

But as before, he didn’t feel angry at them. Only at himself.

So he did everything he good to get them back, not wanting to make light of Arthur’s sacrifice. He even did the stupidest of things, like buying a ranch without knowing how to run one, though to his surprise he found help in the unlikeliest of forms from both Uncle and Charles, who he had truthfully assumed to be dead.

In the end, he did get Abigail and Jack back, but he found himself faced with fear once more as he studied the box that he held in his hands as Abigail admired the view over the lake. He knew that the two had practically been married over the years anyway, but he wanted to make it official. To truly be one, together. To be a family. Yet that old self-hatred, that fear of rejection, held him in its grips. That is, until he finally forced the words out of him, spurred on by looking into those blue eyes of hers.

“Will you marry me?”

As indignant and proud as usual, she snorted, eyes alight with humour. “Get up, I am married to you!”

Smiling slightly, he shook his head as he reached into his pocket, letting go of her hands for a moment. “No, I mean, proper…” He trailed off, finding it hard to find the words as usual, “in front of God…”

Her eyes wrinkled at that, squinting a little as some hesitation slipped into her voice. “You serious?”

Breathing heavily, he pulled the ring free from the box and held it out to her. “I got this ring, I’ve had it for a long time…” A smile quirked his lips, recalling the moment he got it, “take it.” He slid it onto her finger, trying to ignore the nerves that almost had him shaking.

“You serious?” She repeated, eyes flicking between the ring and him.

“It would make me very happy if you would-”

Abigail cut him off. “We’ve lived a lot of lives.”

“Let’s just live this one from now on. You and me, Jack…” He swallowed, “a family, by law.”

Her eyes became glassy as she shook her head a little, peering down at the ring on her finger, a small tear forming at the edge of one of her eyes. “John, I… I never,” her voice cracked, “I didn’t know it mattered to ya.” She gazed at him once more, eyes earnest and as calm as the lake.

“It didn’t…” John admitted, some morbid humour to his tone, “but now it does.” He sighed, getting up from where he’d knelt to sit beside her, watching as the smile grew on her lips and becoming just a little bit more confident in himself, “if you think this is dumb, I’m- I’m sorry…”

Abigail laughed, resting a hand on his arm. “Shut up you silly man and kiss me.”

The two met, just like the sun that was dipping into Flat Iron lake, turning it a beautiful gold that reflected in her eyes.

When the wedding finally happened, John made sure to remember the moment forever. The way the wedding dress fit her form, the veil that rested in her messy bun. The look of happiness that glazed over her blue eyes as she grinned up at him, clinging onto him. The cheering that surrounded them and the laughter, how they’d danced that night and the dry leaves that fluttered through the air.

But all things come to an end and mistakes come back to haunt anyone, especially sinners like John.

He recalled the day when his family were taken, but ultimately, the time came when he had to say goodbye, ushering the two onto a horse.

“You comin’ with us, pa?” Jack asked, staring down from where he was mounted on the horse. John looked up for a moment, taking in how much he’d grown, recalling that time when he’d seen him as a baby, how their hands met.

With some difficulty, he replied. “I’ll catch you up,” He helped Abigail up onto the horse, heart practically breaking, “keep ridin’ and don’t look back. Don’t be worried about me, ya hear? Now get goin’!”

Abigail pointed at him, serious and face set with worry. “You stay out of trouble, John.”

“Ain’t no trouble, Abigail, ain’t no trouble…” He reassured her despite knowing what was to come, placing a kiss on her fingers. Before pulling her close into a chaste kiss goodbye, “I love you.”

She shivered, voice as broken as his as she struggled not to cry. “I love you.”

“Now, go!” He yelled, hitting the back of the horse and watching as his family rode off, before heading towards where he knew he had no choice but to go.

He didn’t miss the similarity of it all. How his brother so long ago had done the same for him, so he could live with his family, though the truth of it all was that his sacrifice only bought him a few more years. Either way, he was grateful to the man that he could even have that, as he peeked through the barn doors where guns were being aimed at him. Breathing out, he clenched his fist, shoving open the doors and firing on the multitudes of men outside, buying time for his family.

Every shot that hit conjured a photograph in front of him.

The first time he saw Abigail outside of camp.

BANG.

The night he caught her outside of the tents.

BANG.

The time they hid from the law.

BANG.

The first night they spent together.

BANG.

When he ran away.

BANG.

Jack’s chubby fingers wrapping around his.

BANG.

He started to hear their voices too, as he felt his heart break with his body.

“Get the hell outta here and be a god damn man!” Arthur’s voice yelled through him, as he gave him a chance to live.

BANG.

“Shut up you silly man and kiss me!”

BANG.

The wedding, how beautiful Abigail looked in her dress.

BANG.

“You comin’ with us, pa?”

BANG.

“I love you.”

BANG.

His gun fell and he dropped to his knees.

Her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Songs I listened to while writing:  
I'll be good - Jaymes Young  
Lust for Life - Lana Del Rey  
Sinners - Lauren Aquilina 
> 
> My tumblr: cbxtual or redeadumbass


End file.
